


The Way It Is

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:23:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey helps Ian through some bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way It Is

“How long you been out here?” Mickey asked groggily, as he came out into the livingroom from the bedroom. It was dark, and Ian was sitting on the couch; the glow of the television casting weird shadows on the walls and his face. Ian looked back at him and shrugged. He came to sit next to him and looked at what was on the screen. “What’s this?”

Ian looked down at his hands in his lap and sighed, “Some old Western I remember watching with Frank once, surprisingly. I think I was maybe five, six…”

Mickey nodded and watched as several men were involved in a saloon fight that seemed to start over nothing.

“I think it’s why I got a thing for cowboys.”

Mickey snorted. ”Can’t go wrong with a man in chaps and a hat. The gun and boots is just extra.” When Ian didn’t really react, Mickey turned to him, his back facing the armrest and his leg tucked between them. “Ay, something wrong, or just can’t sleep?”

Once again, Ian ducked his head, examining the number he was doing on his nails. He exhaled deeply through his nose and eyed the shoot-out going on in front of him. Mickey leaned in closer, eyebrow raised in anticipation of the answer he knew he was going to pull out of him no matter what. But, Ian being a Gallagher, he had to put on a brave face first. It was expected, and Ian secretly liked that Mickey knew how to get past it…since the beginning.

“Can’t sleep.” He chanced a glance at Mickey, his mouth lifting slightly at the corner. He reached and picked up the bottle from the coffee table, putting it to his lips and tipping it up.

Mickey watched him for a minute, as he drank. “That the wine from the party?” In answer, Ian held it out to him. Mickey took a few swigs and passed it back. Ian set it back down on the table and sank further down until his knees bumped the edge of it. Mickey was still looking at him, half-sleep half-concern on his face. He leaned into the cushions and turned back to the men riding their horses into the sunset, waiting for the inevitable spew of why exactly they were up watching a black and white movie.

“You wanna fuck?” He ventured, slightly hoping. He knew sometimes the redhead could get out his aggression with a good round or three, but he didn’t know if it would help for anything else. And this seemed to be something else.

Ian shook his head, “Nah, Mick…” he turned to Mickey and actually gave him a real smile, putting his hand on his leg and squeezing. It was small and was gone just as quick, but Mickey could tell his offer had been appreciated.

They turned back to the t.v. and sat in silence, eyes glazing over from the almost-comical violence. Mickey was glad it wasn’t one of those silent films, otherwise the sounds of gunshots and bad death-acting wouldn’t be filling the growing void between them.

“You ever feel like everything that’s ever been wrong with you is written all over your face sometimes?” Ian blurted out over a horse and carriage crash.

Ah, there it was. Right on time.

“What are you talking about?”

Ian continued on like he hadn’t responded, “And like, you can’t ever tell anyone anything, because it always ends up backfiring?”

Mickey’s mouth was agape for a second, not really prepared for these hard-hitting questions so late in the night. “Okay, I’m cutting you off,” he mildly teased, pushing the wine out of Ian’s reach.

Ian looked up at Mickey, still slouched in the cushion like he had given up on ever getting up. “No, I’m serious, Mickey. Don’t you feel like that sometimes? Like everyone can just see what an absolute fuck-up you are like it’s playing on a projection across your forehead? I mean, fuck!” His hands spazzed in frustration, coming to tear anxiously at his face.

“Whoa, hey! Where is this coming from?” Mickey scooted closer, leaning into Ian’s line of vision between his fingers. He took his hands down and brought his to cup Ian’s face. “Look at me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Ian closed his eyes then opened them, staring into Mickey’s. He sighed and pushed himself up a little more, so he didn’t completely sink into the couch or slide right off. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why I even started thinking about this. And for what? ‘Cause somebody looked at me like I was…..like I…” he took a deep breath and let it out.

Mickey’s face registered a flash of anger. “Somebody, who? Looked at you like what?”

Ian shook his head and tried to look away, but it was hard with his chin trapped in Mickey’s grasp; however soft it was. “Nothing, Mick. Just…some guy at work I was talking to. I…told him some stuff…about my past, and it..got around to the others. Anyway, I ended up getting called in to the manager for some stupid talk—”

“And what? You fired? What’d you say?”

Ian pulled away and leaned forward with his head in his hands. “No, I’m not fired, but it’s not the same there. And it’s bullshit! I work my ass off, but now suddenly everybody wants to act like I’m not there! It’s fucked!” He slammed a fist down on the table, making the bottle shake.

Mickey shifted so he was sitting next to him properly. “You’re up crying because some dickheads won’t eat lunch with you?”

“Fuck off. I wasn’t crying.” Ian grunted, refusing to look at Mickey when he asked.

Mickey slid easily from the couch to the coffee table, sitting right in front of Ian so he couldn’t escape. He grabbed his hands away from his hair and held them, looking into the other man’s eyes that were slightly wet. “Ian, you are not a fuck-up. Alright? And if everything we’ve fucked up was written all over us, I’d be covered everywhere but my anus.”

Ian couldn’t help but do a cross between a snort and a sniffle. He looked away then back at Mickey’s face. He could tell Mickey wanted to laugh, but he was determined to keep a serious face so he would know he was telling the truth. “It sucks, though…not being able to just..tell someone something in confidence and think it’ll strengthen your…relationship or whatever. And then they have to look at you like you’re somehow different just because of one thing.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes for some people, if they not really trying to begin with.” Mickey wasn’t sure where that came from, but he’d be lying if he didn’t say he knew exactly what his boyfriend was talking about. He’d stopped telling anyone anything a long time ago, because it never ended up good for him. Then throw in the looks of contempt and disgust from complete strangers, and some days it really did feel like the whole world had his personal rap-sheet.

“Just passing people on the street or in some place is like they just look at me and know everything, and I start to freak out,” Ian admits quietly. He doesn’t look away from Mickey now.

“What, like you’re not good enough for them? They think they’re better than you because you got a record? So the fuck what? Huh?”

Ian sighs, “I know, but—”

“No, Ian,” Mickey leans in and kisses his top lip, “It doesn’t matter, okay? If they look at you like that, you stare right back. Ain’t nobody gonna make you feel like you’re nothing just because you been in the system. They don’t know shit. Alright?” Mickey grabbed his face and kissed him fully on the mouth before he could answer.


End file.
